


Freedom in Fort Worth

by poisonrationalitie



Category: Counting On (TV) RPF
Genre: (if it even can be considered teenage rebellion given how strict their parents are), Friendship, Gen, Teenage Rebellion, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:34:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28104036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisonrationalitie/pseuds/poisonrationalitie
Summary: Justin and Robby go 'Christmas shopping'.
Relationships: Justin Duggar & Robby Spivey
Kudos: 1





	Freedom in Fort Worth

He’s still, technically, subject to the same rules as Josie, saving for gender, never mind the fact that Justin will be his own headship in less than three months. He’s still not ready to make his own choices about the music he listens to, or so his father says. But his father is in Arkansas, isn’t he? And even if Justin was caught – what would his father do? Make the six-hour drive to tell him off? Yell at him over the phone? And Mr. Spivey wouldn’t hit him, nor Robbie – they were too old for that, and it was such a small, tiny disobedience. It was only that that emboldened them, though the years of training would never quite leave.

That’s why they still made the excuse of running down to the shops, needing to pick up more nails and – hinted at, but not really – a Christmas gift for a _very special someone_ , which Mrs. Spivey was all too happy to believe was herself, and Claire smiled and assumed it was for her. Justin and Robbie loaded themselves into the pickup truck and rumbled down the road, windows up and heater on, cranked.

“I’ve been past this place a million times,” Robbie says, tugging a wad of cash out of his well-thumbed wallet. “Mom doesn’t know them. She doesn’t like them.”

“Right-o,” Justin says evenly, keeping his eyes on the slippery road ahead. His heart wants to race, wants to jump for joy, but he doesn’t let it. There are too many things that could go wrong – but. _But._ It’s Texas. That alone nearly melts him into excitement.

He parks the car with some difficulty, reversing and then going forward, shimmying into a cramped, awkward park among the Christmas shoppers. For this, they bother with masks, sliding them over their mouths and noses. Between that and the crowds, they might just blend in. He prays. It’s always a shot in the dark for, will somebody recognise him, will they want a picture, will they remember his name or call him Jackson or Joseph, or will they recognise him as a nameless Duggar boy and beeline for whatever sister is alongside? For Robbie, it’s more a matter of people from church, people who have seen him grow up, but it’s unlikely anything he does will end up on one of those online forums, or reposted a dozen times on Pinterest. Justin can only pray, and hide his hair under a beanie and half his face with a mask and his body with a large coat gifted by Mr. Spivey.

He locks the car and they wander along the footpath, watching for familiar faces out of the corners of their eyes. Robbie nudges him, and he freezes, following his gaze across the road, fearing a stray from Family Camp or a Spivey cousin or someone pointing at him – but it’s only the shop, with bright displays in the window, tinsel hanging above the door, and a sale noted in red and green lettering. It’s so _close._ In spite of the cold, his palms sweat. They cross the street, though not towards it, and feign interest in the tacky gift shop next door.

“Why would anyone want a shirt with ‘Fort Worth’ on it?” Robbie asks. They make eye contact, and Robbie laughs. “Ooh, Claire would buy it for you, wouldn’t she? Like she got that shirt of Arkansas for herself and Texas for you.”

“Knock it off,” Justin laughs, turning away from the cheap shirts. Robbie makes a kissing face.

They watch two people make purchases and cannot stand the sickly, lingering scent of discount vanilla candles, and so they agree it’s time. They leave the shop and stand on the sidewalk, definitely not looking but absolutely thinking about the shop next door.

“Do you think we have enough money?” Justin asks, rubbing his gloved hands together. Robbie counts it out.

“I think so,” he says. Justin nods. They wait longer, delaying, and Justin finds he no longer needs to worry about overexcitement, because his stomach is in knots. He could be sick. Under his mask, Robbie looks waxy. _Robbie won’t call it,_ Justin realises, all at once. _I’m the adult._

“Let’s go,” he forces out, and Robbie nods too quickly, resembling a bobblehead. With careful steps, they reach the glass door, and push it open. Aisles spread out, holding hundreds – maybe thousands, Justin doesn’t know, counting stuff at a distance isn’t his strong suit – of CDs. Some pink and some blue, some with monochrome covers and others fiery red. The boys exchange a look and pick a row at random.

They find themselves in a section labelled ‘Pop’. Robbie runs his fingers over the tops of the CDs and plucks one out. A woman with silver-blonde hair poses against a yellow-y background, upside down. Justin inhales sharply. Two tiny straps – if they can even be considered straps – hook over her shoulders and run down to the edge of the cover, to where her breasts would be, or almost. Her collarbone stretches out endlessly, golden brown, and beneath it is a large swathe of exposed chest.

“Oh,” Justin says, voice cracking. Robbie stares at it, as if bewildered, and then drops it like it’s burning hot.

“There’s, um, a lot of girls on the fronts,” Robbie says awkwardly, tugging at the string of his mask. “Maybe we should try a different section. I don’t want to listen to girly music.”

“Yeah,” Justin says. Both their cheeks are crimson. Does Claire look like that, under her shirt, he wonders. The thought of her collarbones, of her chest, it sticks in his throat like gum. He wordlessly follows Robbie to the back of the store, trying to breathe evenly, trying not to think of Claire, of Claire and her snow white skin, her beautiful neck, the necklace he bought her hanging from it and –

“Parental advisory?” Robbie reads aloud from a sticker. “If it’s a parental advisory to other people’s parents, I think Mom and Dad would kill me.”

“Yeah,” Justin says, stepping forwards. _Focus on the CDs. Focus on the CDs._ “This cover looks cool,” he says, grabbing one out. There’s no little warning on it – no text at all. Just black with white squiggles across it.

“Oh yeah,” Robbie agrees. “What are the songs called?” Justin flips the back over, and reads, one brow furrowing.

“‘One for the Road’,” he says. “That could be good, we can listen to it while we drive. ‘Arabella’. Uh – ‘Number One Party Anthem’?” Robbie snorts.

“Because we throw so many parties.”

“I’ll play it at the wedding,” Justin counters, grinning, even though Robbie can only see his eyes.

“Oh, really?”

“Definitely.”

“Bet you won’t.”

“You’re on,” Justin says, knowing full well he won’t. His mother would have a heart attack. She seems to be on the verge of one every time Josie screams these days.

They finger a few more albums, testing, but decide to go with the one with the squiggly line. Justin almost asks Robbie to go to the counter and pay for it – just in case he’s spotted, just in case he’s recognised – but no. No. _I’m the adult,_ Justin repeats, a mantra he’s still learning, a fact he’s still memorising, still trying to believe, and so when Robbie hands him the wad of cash, he just says, “thanks,” and heads to the counter.

The man behind the register has multiple piercings in each of his ears and one on his brow, and Justin immediately knows why Mrs. Spivey wouldn’t like him – his family wouldn’t, either. The earrings make him look like a girl, and the eyebrow piercing just looks stupid. Why would you want a metal bar there? They make polite conversation, though Justin hurries through as much of it as possible and the shopkeeper doesn’t seem to mind. Finally, _finally,_ it ends, and he slides the CD inside his coat and launches himself out of the store, Robbie hot on his heels. They perform a rudimentary check of the road and then run across it, nearly slipping on the crust of ice, and Justin shoves his key in the lock and they jump in the car.

When both doors are closed, they stop, panting, breathless. They have it. They’ve done it. They’ve purchased a CD. Not a Christian one, not his sisters’ one (he didn’t even see ‘Happy Heart’ anywhere in the store, come to think of it). One that other teenagers might listen to. One with squiggly lines and a song about a party. He and Robbie discard their masks and Justin takes the CD out of his pocket, hands shaking, and gives it to Robbie.

“We could go to the lake,” Justin says, doing his best to sound casual. “Listen to it there.”

“Alright,” Robbie says. Justin puts his hands on the steering wheel. They fall silent. And then, from somewhere, right in the depths of him, he laughs. And laughs. And laughs. And it’s like a release, they’ve done it, they did it, they have it. It feels like winning a prize. Like having your birthday remembered. And so Justin laughs, clutching the steering wheel, nose scrunches, and he laughs until his lungs burn and his stomach aches.

Because he _can_ laugh, in Fort Worth, without interrogation. Because someone else will laugh with him, and it doesn’t matter what they’re laughing at, if it’s appropriate, if it’s Godly. They can be teenage boys, and they can buy a CD and drive to the lake and laugh.

He never wants to leave.


End file.
